FREEWRITE: Prosopagnosia

Blaine glanced furtively out his kitchen window again. He is sure the man next door is who he thinks he is. He’s been wrong before, but those were fellow students from obscure university courses taken long ago. Or former colleagues from a large retail bookstore where the attrition rate was like a revolving door. In fact, whenever he asks his wife whether or not the actor currently on the television is who he thinks the actor is, he’s wrong nine out of ten times. During this fall season’s sweep of new shows, his wife has laughed at every single one of his guesses. Blaine doesn’t want to admit that he’s terrible at recognizing faces because he secretly wants to be a spy. But he is.

However, his blatantly sketchy new neighbour, who wears a wife-beater and a handlebar moustache, who has an old Jacuzzi tub in the middle of his backyard, who bought that run down former rental house next door with the dead Corvette in the driveway no one bothered to call the tow truck on… he looks exactly like the pedophile on parole whose been skulking about Carson Grey elementary, which incidentally, is three blocks from where Blaine and his new neighbour lives.